Made for Company
by Poaxath
Summary: Imprisoned, Loki (former Prince of Asgard), decides to conjure up someone to talk to. This is my first ever story that I've submitted, and I hope to continue writing, if anyone is interested. Let me know how/what I can change and maybe throw out some suggestions, as well! I can't guarantee I'll use the suggestions, but I'll take them into consideration. Thank you for reading!
1. Chapter 1

You don't know how you've come to be here. You don't know where you are, or what this is, or even your own name. You are but a newborn babe opening its eyes to the world for the first time. There is light, and it blinds you; your brand new eyes struggle to adjust to it as you blink in a flurry, your vision instantly blurred with the wetness of your orbs trying to shield themselves. You instinctively hold up your – what is that? – to shade your eyes, but the foreign limb, with five long, skinny things on it, catches your attention. Surprised, you forget the bright lights and your eyes open wider. You stare at your hand for a moment before realizing you have another one – and two similar-looking limbs that you're standing on! You're overwhelmed with shock – you've literally appeared into the universe as if from thin air – and your mind is what philosophers would call a "tabula rasa"… a blank slate. You touch around your face and feel all the features it possesses; you touch the soft, strange stuff on your head. It's long and you hold it out in front of your face to look at it, and it fascinates you. Then you look down at the garments covering your body; they're a startling hue, but it's breathtaking.

A voice startles you from your self-absorption. "Eheheheh… Very good. You will do."

You're not alone. You quickly look up to see a tall, lithe person, adorning green and gold, staring at you. He stands eerily straight, and wears a mischievous smile on an impish face. The first thing you think is that he looks oddly beautiful; his skin is starkly pale, which creates a drastic contrast between it and the head of long raven's hair that falls around his shoulders. The most striking feature on this man is the set of emerald eyes, framed by black lashes. They're a mesmerizing colour, but they're offset by an almost intimidating fire burning within them.

One look at this man – this stranger – and you are on edge. You stiffen and open your mouth, not even questioning the fact that you can form words, despite having never spoken before. "Who am I?" you ask. The question causes you to pause. No, wait, that wasn't what you meant to say… was it? You wanted to know who HE was… but your mind took the deepest issue rooted in your subconscious and brought it to the forefront.

He grins, baring a mouth full of straight, pearly whites. It seems like the gesture should normally be friendly, but instead it makes you feel as though you're being cornered and studied. "You?" he says, and his voice surprises you again, only this time for a different reason. He has the body language of a predator zeroing in on an unsuspecting prey, except his voice is thick with velvet and makes something in your chest start pounding faster. You take a small, preventative step back, even though he hasn't moved. "You are a product of my mind-of my magic," he answers, spreading his hands out before him. "You are the result of too much free time and an eternity without seeing any of the world go by."

This answer clarifies nothing for you. You try to make sense of his words, but to little avail. "So I'm… not real?" is the only thing you can think to ask.

The man considers this and then folds his hands behind his back. "You are real only to me," he clarifies. "You are nothing but a few simple enchantments, but I can see you, hear you, touch you – if I so desired to. However, no one else can do the same; to them, you are not even here." He holds up his hands and gets a smug look on his face. "Magic," he repeats, as if you should be impressed. "Ta-daaaaa!"

But you don't know what "magic" or "enchantments" or any of this means; if he has in fact created you, he hasn't given you much knowledge as a starting point. You wonder if this is deliberate or not; if, without knowledge of your own, he eliminated the risk of you coming to be with your own set of opinions. You think that maybe this man didn't want to take the chance that yours would differ from his. The only piece of information you understand is that no one else can see you. You only seem to exist for him. It's a strange feeling, realizing that your purpose is tied to only one other.

"Do I have a name? What am I called?" you ask after a few moments of silence. His face doesn't change at the question, but his eyes flicker with something, as if considering your words. "Not at the moment," he answers. This is a weird answer. Who are you then? Was he just planning on keeping you a innominate entity for the rest of your… however long you exist? He sees your unease at this and adds, "I see no need for such titles. They only add an unnecessary level of intimacy that I don't particularly care for. I know who you are, and you are here, and will never be elsewhere, so what is the purpose of it?"

You don't know any better, so you wonder if perhaps this is a normal occurrence. Maybe lots of people were nameless. Still, something about it bothers you, but you say nothing. You glance back down at your dress and fidget with it.

"Do you like your dress?" the velvety voice asks pointedly – as if you'd better say you do. You nod and mutter, "It's really pretty." The colour of it leaves you in awe, and you wish you could see what you look like in it – what it is you look like in general. "This… this…" You try and think of the right word.

The man narrows at eyes at you. "'This' what?"

You point to the dress again, feeling frustrated. "This! Whatever this is!"

His eyebrows even back out. "This colour? Does it not please you?"

You shake your head, looking from the dress to him. "No, I just want to know what 'colour' it is. It's remarkable."

He gets that impish grin again and it still makes you tense. He has apparently brought you to life, but you feel as though, with the bat of an eye, he would cross the room and end your existence in a split second. Yet, because he is your creator, there is a thread that connects you to him, and vice versa. If you look at him hard enough, you almost feel like you can see it. You don't know if you much like the fact that, despite not even knowing him, you feel dependent on this person.

"It is called 'scarlet', a shade of red, and I think it brings out your eyes. I did an outstanding job, if I do say so myself," he gloats excitedly. "Would you like to see?"

Before you can even answer, a third person formulates between you two, making you yelp and jump back. You can hear his cold laughter. "You are too easily frightened," he chastises, "like a timid rabbit. Calm yourself, this is but a copy of you – it's not real. You can touch it, though if you did, the illusion would simply disappear." He sneers. "You can either observe it and take a look at yourself, or you can gawk and cower. Either way, this is only lasting for a minute – I have no need for two of you."

You blink and straighten, feeling embarrassed. You look behind the girl – behind YOU, how strange – and meet eyes with your creator. You are amusing him; you wonder if this is why he made you. It makes you feel small. So you harden your gaze and move your eyes to the figure in front of you. She is positively beautiful, and you can't quite comprehend the fact that this is but a reflection of yourself. She feels like a separate person entirely. You don't want to admit it aloud, but he DID do an outstanding job, particularly with the dress. It flatters all of your features, from the tone of your skin to the hair on your head – and he was right, it DOES bring out your eyes. You're not sure what the names are for the colours of his garments, but you notice that they seem to complement each other nicely. Somewhere deep down, you like this.

You don't see him raise his hand and tilt it slightly, but then the copy of you dissipates in a quick shimmer, and you're looking straight at him. It throws you off guard, and you avert your eyes and feel your face flushing. This man makes you feel confusing, conflicting things. Strangely, you want him near you but you also want to keep your distance. You want to know him, but you feel an innate fear at what you'll find out. You want him to say nothing but also say it all, because there's something that's both scary and soothing in his voice. You fidget, wringing your dress absentmindedly in your hands, and still his eyes won't leave you. You don't know what exactly he's expecting out of you. You clear your throat and then force yourself to glance back up at him. "So who are you?" you ask hesitantly.

One side of his lip curls up into a proud sneer. "I am Loki, former Prince of Asgard," he announces. You detect a hint of bitterness in his tone but choose not to address it. "That is where we are-Asgard," he continues. "But more specifically, we are in my new, humble abode. Do you like it?" He holds out his arms and gestures around the room mockingly. This feels like a trick question. You look around the small room, taking in the surroundings for the first time. The walls and floors are a bright colour – they remind you of the colour of Loki's skin – and there isn't much in terms of decorating. There's a small, bed-like piece of furniture, a few chairs and small tables, and on one, a goblet filled with clear liquid and a bowl with small, round things inside of it.

"Do you live here?" you ask. He snorts a small, dark chuckle. "I do now - courtesy of the gracious King," he replies sarcastically. You look back to him, confused. "What does that mean?" You furrow your brows.

His jaw tightens, but he keeps that bitter sneer on his face. "It means that I am a prisoner; sentenced to an eternity in a cell because my dear old father could not bear the thought of me becoming a greater ruler than he was."

Your jaw drops. "Your FATHER locked you up?"

He taps one foot suddenly. "Do keep up," he sighs impatiently. "He is the King; I am the former Prince. 'Father' is a bit of a false term, but that is of no matter now. For all intents and purposes, that would make him my Father in theory. Honestly, I had to have made you sharper than this."

You bite your lip, a pang of hurt passing through you. Your question hadn't been literal; it was just a small detail you hadn't picked up on until the end. And even if you HADN'T pieced that together, it wasn't your fault that he made you this way; you're not unaware by your own doing. Yet, he is treating you as such. Why is he talking to you as if you'd already done something wrong? "So, umm… what did you do then? To end up in here, I mean?" you ask, trying to change the subject.

He is the one to look away now. He seems to be lost in a memory, one that causes another of those bitter smirks to cross his face and twist his otherwise attractive features. "For attempting to fulfill my birthright," is all he'll give you. Of course, you have no idea what this means. But you can't fathom why a father would sentence his own son to an eternity in a cage; perhaps you weren't entirely a blank slate after all. You may not have known colours, or names, or whereabouts, or purposes, but you understood the inherent idea that parents are supposed to love their children. Automatically, this paints the King out in a bad light, and you feel compelled to believe that whatever Loki had done, mustn't have been as bad as his father was making it seem.

You start to walk around the room, getting a better look at everything in it. You take a better look at the little round things in the bowl on the table and wrinkle your nose with curiosity. Loki watches you. "Blueberries," he tells you. "You may have one if you want; I despise them." You like that word: blueberries. It sounds soft and sweet. You pick one up between your fingers and inquire, "What is the colour of this?"

He laughs then, and it sounds different than the other laughs you've heard. This one sounds a little more genuine. "That would be BLUE," he replies. "Hence the name, BLUEberry. Try one; they're absolutely vile. Maybe you'll like it."

You cock an eyebrow at him. Was that supposed to be the selling pitch? "Can I even eat it?" you ask curiously. "I mean, if I am not real?"

"Why not? You seem to have failed to notice that you can touch it; you're holding it in your fingers. If you can touch it, you can taste it. I said you are not real to the REST of the world – that does not mean you are not real at all."

You ponder his answer and then slowly bring the berry to your nose and smell it. There's a faint whiff and it smells sweet. You gingerly place it in your mouth and bite down. The burst of flavour is delightful; maybe it's because you have never tasted anything before, but you find the berry delicious and wonder instantly how Loki could dislike it. You look to him for permission and he gives you an impassive nod to show that he doesn't care if you eat more. So you do. You gather a few in your hand and then look back around the room. You are slightly startled to see that two of the walls are transparent; you can see the dungeon outside of it, surrounded by other cells with other prisoners inside. You walk up to the wall, seeing the faint shimmer of a bright, beautiful colour, and you touch it with your fingers. It hums softly and spreads out that mystical colour around the pads of your digits. "What is this?"

"A spell," Loki answers flatly. "To ensure I do not escape."

You are transfixed by this for a while, trying to wrap your mind around this thing called "magic" and all of the wondrous things it seems capable of doing. Then you take the time to look out into the other cells across from Loki's; the creatures in there look far more intimidating than your creator does. Some of them look like you in body and anatomy; some don't look like you at all. For the first time, you're thankful that you're in here with Loki rather than out there with any of them. You turn back to find Loki leaning against one of the bright walls now.

"So why am I here? Why did you make me?" you finally ask. This is all fine and good, but he hasn't exactly explained your purpose yet.

Loki does not give you a single bodily reaction. He remains eerily stoic as he stands there. He doesn't even so much as blink. "To keep me company," he states, as if this is just fact that means nothing to him. You're starting to wonder if that's how he feels about you, too. "I prefer my own company more than most men, but even an eternity is too long a time to spend without someone else to talk to."

"So I'm your companion?"

"No," he snaps, much louder than you were expecting. Now his jaw is tensing and his green orbs are flashing again with something fierce and guarded. "You are not my companion; you are not my 'friend'. I don't have 'friends'," he spits out the word as if it were poisonous. Then he inhales collectedly, and that unusually reticent mask reappears. "You are just… company. It would be in your best interest to remember that and not confuse it with anything further."

Once again, he is being cruel, and once again, it hurts. His words make you feel lonely and pitiful; he is the only living being in this world that is aware of your existence and you are no more than a way for him to pass the time. What kind of a life was that? But you know the alternative can't be much better… simply passing back out of existence and going back to being nothing. Being something, no matter how small, was better than being nothing. So you bite your tongue – fight the urge to return his snarky demeanor – and try to exercise your patience.

"And no one else will come to visit you?" you ask him tiredly. It's difficult being tolerantly accommodating to this man.

His gaze trails off again and he smiles; a strange smile, that could also pass as a frown. "No one cares," he informs you, and if this is true, it breaks your heart. "I had thought perhaps my brother might have come to see me, but evidently he has better things to do. There is only one person who…" His voice trails off as he suddenly pushes himself off the wall and strides across the room, something outside of the walls catching his eye. "What a coincidence," he mutters under his breath, but you think it's more meant for himself than directed at you. Then he spares you a quick glance from the corner of his eye. "Someone's ears must've been burning," he adds. You don't know what this means, but suddenly he's grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the transparent wall, moving you across the room. He stops you just as your back hits the back wall of the room, and he quickly says, lowly, "Just stand there. Keep very quiet and still; if you speak to me, I will not answer you. Not until she has left. Nod if you understand."

You nod, but you don't understand. Not at all. He moves away from you and faces the opposite direction, waiting patiently. You wonder who he is waiting FOR.

A tall, elegant, positively beautiful woman suddenly comes into view and approaches the cell. With one swift motion of her hand, she creates a doorway by which to walk inside. To your further amazement, it vanishes the moment she's fully in the room.

"Hello, Loki," she says lovingly, with a sad smile on her face. You watch her with wide eyes; who is this woman? Why do you feel the faintest pang of jealousy? She speaks to your creator with such a tender tone, as if she knows him on a personal level – a level you will never know him. But yet she is so radiant and has such kind eyes that you can't help but be grateful she has come. Already, the air around all of you has become warmer, softer. She carries a stack of rectangular-looking things in her arms – some small, some larger. You try and sneak a better look at them, trying to guess what they are, but you also dare not leave you spot against the wall, so you can only make out so much. There is also a small bag sitting on top of them.

"Hello," you hear Loki reply, with an unexpected gratefulness in his tone. Almost like relief to see her. It sounds strange coming from him, but you like it. It's a sliver of proof that something a little tenderer exists inside of this man. She places the stack of the rectangular things down on the foot rest and then holds out the bag to Loki. "I have brought you some books; I thought maybe you would be interested in reading some of them, and you can let me know which ones you prefer so I may bring more," she tells him, trying to keep her tone light. There is a distinct elephant in the room, you can tell, and it seems like they both know what it is, but that it's purposely being avoided.

Loki eyes the "books" and then gives a small nod. He clears his throat. "Yes, thank you," he says. His tone is a bit more apathetic this time, and this makes you frown. This is a nice gesture from this woman, after all. But then, as if reading your mind, he adds, "I would like that," his voice much softer this time. She smiles, and it makes you smile. Her happiness is contagious.

Loki accepts the bag in her hands and then peers inside. Frowning, he asks, "Blueberries? Surely you've noticed that the ones I already have, have gone mostly uneaten."

The woman looks to the bowl, confused. "I thought they were your favourite," she says calmly. Loki seems too preoccupied grimacing into the bag to notice the disappointment in her voice, but you notice it. It makes you want to smack some sense into the former Prince.

"I hate blueberries," he mutters.

"They were your favourite as a child, then."

"They were NEVER my favourite."

She sighs. "Very well, it was my mistake," she resigns. "What would you prefer in its place?"

Loki puts the bag down on the edge of his bed, seeming like he's thinking about his choices. "Cranberries," he says after a moment's pause. The woman's eyebrows raise curiously. He defends his choice, saying, "They are sour. I like that." He gets a strange expression on his face as he bitterly attempts humor, adding, "I'M sour."

He waits for her to laugh, but she doesn't. Neither do you. Instead, you both just stare at him sadly, though he pays no attention to you. He breaks the stare with this woman and walks over to the books. Dragging his fingers tenderly over the covers, he goes through them one by one, reading the titles. He stops on one book and lets out a small, "Hmm." He holds it up. "Hamlet; how suiting." Loki turns to her and pushes a false smile to his lips. "I have always been quite fond of Shakespeare's work – even though he is but a mere mortal. Midgardians have some fascinating literature."

You have no idea what any of this means, but it seems to provide some relief for the woman. She smiles genuinely and then suddenly begins walking towards Loki. You see his body stiffen, and you watch with anticipation, curious to see if he will accept whatever is coming. Gently, she reaches out and cups his face with her hands and her smile grows ever so slightly - but her eyes are glistening. Loki's own eyes close as he sighs at the affectionate gesture; he seems to be trying to keep his face unreadable but you see his body visibly sink into the touch. It's so sad – this man suddenly looks so broken and fragile - that it's almost painful to watch.

"Loki…" is all the woman can say, shaking her head, her heart visibly aching. She takes a deep breath. "You know that I will not be able to visit you frequently," she says reluctantly. His eyes open and he looks to her. "But I will come as often as I can."

Loki then backs out of her hands and folds his own behind his back. You could have sworn that his expression drops just a bit, and his mask has deteriorated – and is that sadness in his eyes? And then suddenly, the indifference is back and the mask restored.

"Oh yes, Odin does not know you're here," Loki says with a small smile, but his words are cold and filled with hatred. You assume that this Odin person is the King – his father – that he mentioned before. "Best not to upset the old man, lest his weakened heart fails him and he falls back into another Odinsleep."

"I do not find that funny, Loki," she replies warningly, and even for such a graceful, loving woman, there is something that borders on intimidating in her tone. "Your father did not enjoy what transpired between you and him; he was just as upset as I about your punishment."

The way she speaks of the King, you are able to piece together this woman's identity and deduce that she must be his mother.

"And yet, he instilled it."

"There is a purpose to everything your father does," she insists. "He chose this sentence for a reason."

Now you're becoming conflicted; this woman seems so sincere and right-minded, and clearly loves her son dearly. And she speaks of Odin and Loki's punishment with regret, but it's her last statement that bothers you the most. 'He chose this sentence for a reason.' A REASON – one that the Prince has yet to reveal to you. Instinctively, you still feel drawn to your creator and irrationally want to side with him, jump to his defense. But the level-headed part of you is now questioning what exactly it was that Loki did to wind up here. You can't help but wonder if his actions were truly as harmless as he tried to make them seem to you.

But Loki laughs in disbelief. "But when Thor threatened to start a war against the Jotunheim, all he got in return was a banishment to Midgard that lasted the span of a long weekend."

Your eyes jump back to the mischief god. More information… who was Thor? Was that the brother he mentioned?

"Loki, you know that your actions far exceeded the severity of your brother's. Your father had to respond accordingly."

Loki's jaw tightens. "He's not my father," he whispers lowly, his tone dangerous and offended.

The words hang in the air for a moment; you look back and forth between the two uncomfortably. Then his mother sighs. "You cannot hope to show him that you have changed if you are unwilling to take responsibility for your actions," she says.

Loki raises his eyebrows, as if the mere suggestion offends him. In mock surprise, he gestures to himself. "Change? Is that what Odin hopes will happen – that I will change? Into whom, I wonder? Thor? An Aesir, instead of a Frost Giant?" His voice grows colder and louder as he speaks. "Does he hope I will magically change so I am no longer a monster? Would I somehow then be worthy in his eyes of attaining the throne? Of being equal to the mighty Thor?!"

"What are you talking about?" You can't help but ask aloud. Frost Giant? Aesir? Monster? What did these words mean? Why was he talking about himself with such disgust? You wish he would answer you, but he ignores you, just like he said he would.

His mother says nothing, although her mouth trembles in an attempt to fight back tears. Something in what Loki has just said has struck a chord deep within her, and you swear you can see guilt in her eyes. "Please do not twist my words," she eventually says tiredly. "Neither your father nor I could ever see you as a monster. You are not a monster, Loki; whether you choose to believe it or not, you are our son. And we would never wish for you to be your brother; the world already has one Thor, it does not need another – just as the world should only have one Loki, for you are just as special and unique, and can offer the Nine Realms so much. They need you, Loki. But not like this; not with all this bitterness in your heartthat leads to suffering and destruction. You are better than that."

Loki glares at her. "'Would you have me / False to my nature? Rather say I play / The man I am,'" he recites angrily.

She frowns, and so do you. "I…?" she starts.

"'Coriolanus', Mother; another of that Midgardian author's plays." He speaks through gritted teeth. "I am who I am, and I will not change just to please Odin – you and him can choose to accept that, or don't. It matters not to me."

You can sense that Loki has overstepped a line by this point. A single, heartbreaking tear slips down the woman's face as she struggles to maintain her composure in his presence. The urge to shake Loki fills you again. 'Apologize!' you want to scream at him. 'You just told me that no one cares about you when clearly that's a lie! Why are you treating someone - who clearly loves you so much - this way!?' But he says nothing. He just stands there stubbornly, but you can see a brief flicker of remorse wash over him. It's apparent in his body language. Unfortunately, he's also stubborn, and so he waits for the uncomfortable silence to be broken and seems to be hoping against hope that his mother cannot see the guilt in his eyes.

She wrings her hands, looking to the stack of books, and then moves back towards her son, who now refuses to meet her eyes. She tentatively places one hand back on his face. "No one can force you to change, Loki," she whispers, and then places a sad kiss on the other cheek. Loki doesn't even blink. She pulls back and lets her hand drop. "But you will have a long and lonely eternity ahead of you if you cannot think back on your actions and understand your faults in what happened. I hope you will eventually see, because I love you and want my son back." She sighs again, Loki still refusing to look at her. "I will return as soon as possible," she finally says, defeated. Without even gesturing, a door frame reappears by her magic's will, and she motions to leave. Before she does, however, you both see her notice the bag of blueberries she had brought him. She makes to go pick them up to take with her. Quickly, Loki intercepts and picks up the bag before she can.

"I will keep these," he says, and his voice is gentler now. Finally, he glances up at his mother and his fingers close around the bag, making the decision final.

His mother seems to understand her son; what these words are trying to really say. She nods ever so slightly and forces another sad smile to her lips. Then without another word, turns and leaves the cell, the door disappearing behind her. You move from your spot against the wall and walk right past Loki, watching her leave. The whole exchange has shaken you to the core. You have so many questions, and you're terrified to hear their answers. You turn back to face Loki. His eyes are on the floor, and he looks bothered. As if he's forgotten you're here, he turns his back to you and walks back up to one of the small tables. Gingerly, he unties the small rope around the cloth bag and dumps the blueberries into the bowl with the other ones. He holds out the bag, as if considering simply dropping it to the floor in a weird act of protest. Then, he seems to think better of it, and gently lays it on the table next to the bowl.

Your eyes are glued on him, your heart hammering in your throat. Who IS this man? Loki, former Prince of Asgard… Frost Giant? Aesir? Monster?

He sits down on the side of his bed, still staring at the floor. He looks like a completely different person than the one who spoke to you no more than a few minutes ago. Whatever mask he seemed so accustomed to wearing seems to have broken and fell away, and you're almost sure that the only reason he hasn't resurrected it is yet is because he's too lost in thought to realize that it was gone in the first place. You dare not approach him; you're frozen in place, your heart hammering in your chest and your breathing quick and shallow. Loki sighs and slumps forward, covering his face with his hands.

"What…?" you say, almost inaudibly.

This reminds him of your presence. His head snaps back up and he looks at you with a defensive snarl, as if you're there to attack him. His hot-and-cold changes in emotion frighten you, almost as much as the current expression he wears does. You feel yourself shaking slightly. "What did you do…?" you whisper, afraid of what you'll find out.

His jaw tenses and he glares at you with such hatred. It's overwhelming, so palpable, and out of place. It feels like it's directed at you, and you don't know why. Not saying a word, he raises his hand in a quick, rigid motion and before your mind can even register what's going on, everything fades to black and your world returns to nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, sorry for this chapter being a bit short compared to last chapter. I've had some personal things going on in life and I'm trying to stay on top of it all. As always, feel free to PM me or leave a review with some suggestions or comments.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open and are again blinded by the harsh bright light in the room. What in the world had happened? Your head feels as though it's about to burst. You realize that you're lying on your back in the corner of the room, still wearing that gorgeous crimson dress HE had dressed you in. Suddenly remembering that the man in the room with you was the one that had made you pass out, you turn your head and scan the room for him. He is sitting in a chair across the room, a book clasped in his slender hands. He never looks away from his novel as he addresses you, "While you were unconscious, I took the liberty of adding missing information to your mind. You know the names of colors, shapes, and everything else that is trivial. I don't know how I could have overlooked it before."

So that explains why your head feels so full. You groan inwardly as you push yourself up off the ground and into a sitting position. "I'm sorry if I offended you with my question ear-" he waves you silent.

"I was imprisoned for attempting to overthrow the King and exiling my brother, Thor, so that I could take the throne as my own. The woman that came in was my adoptive mother, Frigga." His voice grew ever so slightly soft at the mention of his mother. Clearly he cared deeply for her. He lifts his emerald orbs to yours and looks at you for quite a long moment. You don't move, fearing that he will whisk you back into darkness again. Eventually, he turns his gaze back to his book and says, "I'm sorry for not explaining sooner. I did not know she was going to be coming, and I didn't have much time to explain. She means well, but it would be so much easier if she just stayed away."

You lift yourself to your knees and then onto your feet, which are dainty, but not small. And bare against the cold floor. You lift up the skirts of your dress and look at your toes for a second, wiggling them slightly in fascination. A small chuckle from across the room draws your attention and you glance up. Loki is watching you with some mild amusement in his eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It's a genuine smile, not one filled with loathing and disgust. It looks great on him.

"So if I am to keep you company, and you are locked in a prison, what do we do day in and day out? What book are you reading?" You realize that you know of thousands of books and stories. Sonnets, poems, even a few haikus are all stored away in the vast expanses of your mind. Apparently Loki had done more than give you just a few trivial memories. Or maybe they were just trivial to him. Honestly, trying to understand what things meant to him was becoming quite a bit of a chore. He didn't seem to be too open or willing to share a whole bunch of information.

"It's a Midgardian book called 'Shapechanger's Song: Chronicles of the Cheysuli'. It's an omnibus, actually. Quite interesting, if you're into fiction." The cadence in which he pronounces Cheysuli captivates you. Honestly, the man could read newspaper clippings and captivate an audience. Mainly women, you imagine, but several men would probably drop to their knees just as quickly. You realize that that's what bothers you about this man. He's a seducer. If there's anything you've learned from books and movies, it's to never trust someone like that. Their words are usually pretty lies.

"I do prefer it, actually." You try not to let your unease show, but it's hard. You may have a ton of knowledge all of a sudden, but knowledge and practice are completely different things. In the end, your nervous picking at the dress draws his attention and his face slowly grows cold again. His eyes narrow, but he lifts a finger and beckons you over with it. Feeling as though you've blown it, you go to him, dread feeling heavy in your chest. What if he makes you vanish again? Is that what death feels like? Nothing? Loki points at a chair that's close to him and you take your seat, trying to sit properly with this dress, which is quickly becoming more and more of an annoyance.

As though he's read your mind again, he sets his novel down on a little side table that's next to his chair and plucks another book out of the stack next to it. This one is more flimsy-a magazine. "Here," he says, handing it to you. "Find some clothing you like and it's yours." You look over at him for a moment as you take the magazine, noticing how soft and thin the paper in it is.

"Thank you," you murmur quietly and settle back into the chair to peruse your options. There were several skimpy swimsuits that looked interesting, but you dismiss the idea quickly. When are you ever going to go swimming? On the next couple of pages where some jeans and a couple of shirts that captivate you. "I love these," you say to Loki, not realizing that he had been watching you the entire time. He leans over to take a look and gives a short not of approval. He waves his hand in the air and comes back with a neatly folded set of clothing in his hand. The tags were still on it, even. You raise an eyebrow at him and frown slightly, "Did you steal these?"

He gives a short laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Well, why would I waste the energy summoning them out of thin air when I can just snatch them from an overpriced Midgardian store?" He had a point, but it still felt wrong. He holds the clothing out to you and you gingerly take it from him, making a little bit of an effort to avoid touching his fingers. This man still made you feel extremely odd, as if he might explode over the smallest of things. You feel like you're already boring him to death by being so timid, but if that was the case, wouldn't he have already made you disappear again?

"Do you have somewhere that I can change, or...?" Surely he had seen you naked when he created you. He didn't pick out the dress first, did he? He made a small face and rolled his eyes.

"I'll turn around. Go ahead and change right there. I'm the only one that can see you, remember?"

Giving out a slight huff, you head to the corner of the tiny room and begin unlacing the front of your dress, which had made your breasts look fantastic. Luckily, he had even thought to give you a bra and some modern underwear to wear, too. How thoughtful, that one. Slipping into the jeans, you can't help but feel a bit more mortal next to him in his green and golden robes. He was a Prince, and you weren't even real, but yet somehow his aura of power made you feel less. Turning back around, you walk back to the chair that sat next to him and curled up in it. The crimson dress had been bunched up on the floor where you left it and with a snap of his fingers, Loki had it sent away, out of sight.

"So how am I to keep you company if you already know everything about me, what I know, and are a little unwilling to share your stories?" You aren't sure where the sudden boldness comes from and from the looks of it, he hadn't been expecting it either. His eyes narrowed at you again, and that same burning flame started to heat his eyes up again, but there was also another look lurking in there as well. Fascination, desire? It was hard to tell, but it made something low in your stomach churn, but it isn't in a bad way at all. Your face suddenly feels hot and you look away, unable to keep looking at the intense face that was currently three feet away from you.

His voice slightly rough, he answers, "Well, even though I am unable to leave this cell, I'm able to use some of my magic, still. You, for example. Your clothing. I am able to do rather simple tasks outside of this cell, and more powerful things inside, where it would hurt no one but myself. These walls are warded against my magic, so absolutely nothing I can do will penetrate them." You nod your head in agreement, but he still hasn't answered you. "I was simply thinking that I would summon books and other literature and we could read and discuss them, if you like. You currently know of all the books I have read, so anything you were to read on your own would be strictly your knowledge. Of course, as we grow to learn one another, perhaps we may do other things, as well."

You have no idea if he meant for his last sentence to sound as though he were going to make an advance on you or not. His idea makes sense, even if it is a little odd. "So how long have you been in this cell?"

"Several months now," he says quietly, attention turned back to his book. Boredom striking you, you get up and begin to pace throughout the room, walking over to the bed that was tucked against the far wall. It appeared to be about a queen-sized bed, which was pretty decent, considering he was a prisoner and all. The thought of sleeping and dreaming comes to you and yawn, hand covering your mouth. Suddenly, you feel a warm presence against your back-you hadn't even heard him move, but there he is, inches behind you, his tall figure looming over you. You stiffen in surprise and nervousness, and he asks, "Are you tired? You may sleep in my bed, if you like. I don't sleep often these days."

You blink quickly, taken aback by his unexpected offer and take a minute to weigh your options. The bed looks pristine; white sheets that are completely unruffled. It looks as though no one has ever sat on the bed, much less slept in it. You get the feeling that the sheets smell wonderful and would be wonderful against your skin. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude or anything..." you trail off as he just looks at you with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth again. "Yes, I'm sure. If I grow weary, I'll just push you out of my way."

His poor attempt at a joke brings a grin to your mouth. When he's relaxed and happy, his laugh is infectious. When he's dour and angry, you can't help but want to choke him and comfort him at the same time. "You should really smile more. It makes your eyes shine."

He raises an arched eyebrow and blinks slowly at you, seeming to wonder if you were secretly poking fun at him instead of saying the truth. "I'll keep that in mind..." he says as he moves around to the side of the bed to pull the blankets back for you. He steps away from the bed and gestures to it before turning and retreating back to his chair. With him away from you, you feel as though you can breathe again and you crawl into the bed. pulling the blankets up around you and cuddling up with the pillow. It smells faintly of him, as though he hadn't used it in a long time. It was musky, like the woods after a good rain shower. Perfection. As you drift off to sleep, you can't help but wonder if he is in fact a big softy under his harsh exterior, and if so, should you go poking the bear?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 _The ground beneath your feet is soggy and slippery, making it hard to outrun the noises chasing you. You duck beneath a low-hanging branch, wincing as it snags in your hair and rips out a bit. You don't really have time to think about it too much, though. The thing behind you is getting closer; you can hear the rhythmic thudding and snorting vibrating in your bones. Whatever it is, it's big. Bigger than any dog or creature that you know of._

 _The moss squishes beneath your bare toes, and you find it hard to get momentum. Your breathing is labored, wisps of vapor appearing in the air. The darkness shrouds you, engulfing you, making you feel as though you're suffocating._

 _Suddenly, everything goes quiet. You look around, searching for whatever was chasing you, but there's nothing. Perhaps it gave up? After several moments of silence, you lean against the nearest tree and try to catch your breath. What on earth was that thing? Where are you? Somewhere in your mind, you're aware that this is all a dream, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying. As your pulse slows, you get the distinct feeling that you're not alone._ _ **This is it,**_ _you think, as you slowly turn toward the presence, knowing that you wouldn't like whatever was there. You're reminded of those Midgardian movies where you yell at the screen, telling the main character not to turn around._

 _In a blinding flash of light, you gaze upon what the beast was. A horse, much larger than any other you had ever seen, its hide blacker than the night. Its eyes burned bright green, and what you could only describe as a neon smoke emerged from its eyes and nostrils._

 _It rears up on its hind legs and you fall back to the ground. In that moment, you realize that this animal has eight legs, not four. What IS this thing?! A shriek builds in the back of your throat, and-_

You jerk straight up in the bed, sweat glistening on your face and chest. You gaze around you, but the thing that catches your eye is Loki, watching you intently from where he sat on the edge of the bed, one hand raised as though it were going to comfort you. "I'm sorry," you say, letting out a sigh of relief that it was only a dream. "I had a nightmare."

"I can see that," he mused, dropping his hand to the bed. "What was it about?"

'I..." you trail off, unsure if he would think your nightmare silly. "I was being chased by a horse with eight legs." His face went from vague amusement to a blank slate at that bit of information.

"Was this horse darker than the shadows? With emerald eyes that burn with an unlit fire?" You nod your head, wondering how he knew about this beast.

"How did you know that?" you ask. He looks both relieved and uneasy, but not angry.

He stands up and paces a bit back and forth in front of you. "That is Sleipnir, Odin's horse. And...he's my child."

Dumbfounded, you blink at him, trying to understand. How was Sleipnir Loki's son? Loki definitely wasn't a horse. "Uhm, forgive me, but how is that even possible? I'm simply trying to understand the mechanics of that mating, and I'm coming up with some very interesting images."

The ghost of a grin surfaces before he explains. "My dear, I'm not bound to a human form if I don't want to be. I am able to change my shape into many things. One of which was a mare. I tricked a stallion by the name of Svadilfari, and we conceived Sleipnir."

Well, that was interesting, and very odd. "All right, but why do it? What was the purpose of that?" You can't fathom what in the world would make Loki want to turn into a female horse and give birth.

"Do I really need a motive to do anything?" he asks, and the look in his eyes lets you know that he feels very vulnerable right now. You can tell he's trying to hide it, but by now, you've gotten somewhat accustomed to his moods and behaviors.

"Well, no," you say, looking down at your hands. "I was just curious what you were thinking at the time, because in all of the knowledge you've given me, nothing like that has ever happened before in history."

His eyes soften even more at your words, seeming to remember that you're still very new to this world and trying to take it all in. "I will be honest, I did it because it seemed like fun at the time, and, well, because I wanted to know what that stallion felt like."

Okay, that was really weird. So he was into bestiality, it sounded like. Perhaps not all the time, but sometimes, and that was enough for now. Processing it, you nod your head, never taking your eyes from your hands. The sheen of sweat on your body has dried, and you feel a chill across your spine.

"I also have other children," he continues. "Some of them, I will not speak of, but I will tell you of two others. Fenrir is a giant wolf, and it is said that he will destroy Odin during Ragnarok. Jörmungandr is a giant serpent that was cast to Midgard by Odin. He wraps around the world and is able to touch his own tail. If he releases his tail, Ragnarok will begin. He and my broth—adoptive brother, Thor, don't get along."

You can feel his gaze on you, and you lift your eyes to meet his emerald orbs. He looks much like a child right now, and even though you're thoroughly weirded out by this new information, you do keep in mind that he is a god, and this really shouldn't come as a surprise to you.

"So, you're able to change your form and mate with almost anything..." He nods slowly. "Is this your natural form, then?" He smirks a little and comes to stand before you.

"I have two natural forms," He raises his hand, which is long, and slender, the color of porcelain. Before your eyes, you see a blue hue rushing through the blood vessels in his wrist and fanning out into his palm and fingers. "One is Loki, Prince of Asgard. One," he lifts your face with that blue hand, and you watch as his eyes go from those beautiful glowing emeralds to a deep ruby. "is Loki, Son of Laufey, who is King of the Frost Giants on Jötunheimr." His clothing has faded away as he completes his transformation. Clearly he isn't in this form that often, if he hadn't though to clothe it.

Admittedly, his second form is more terrifying, but you look on him with fascination. Quickly, you stand up and notice his height is much taller now that he is in his "other" body. You're about nose-high with his stomach, which makes looking at his face a bit more difficult since you have to crane your head back to see him.

"I think both forms are wonderful in their own way," you remark, and you feel that some of his defenses have dropped more. Reaching out, you stroke your hand down his stomach, admiring the smoothness and the icy termperature emanating from his body. The muscles underneath your hands twitch and he lets out a very soft sigh, eyes closing gently. Your hand trails down to the "V" on his body, but you quickly pull it away at the sight of him. **Oh my,** you think, tearing your gaze from the sight before you. Flushing a brilliant shade of red, you turn away, heart racing as you look for something to do to make it look like you aren't embarrassed, and admittedly, extremely turned on.

You hear the swish of something against the ground and risk a glance over your shoulder to see him back in his human form, striding away from you, green and golden robes brushing against the ground as he walks. Instantly, you think you've upset him and open your mouth to make an apology, but he turns his head ever so slightly and you see the smug smile at the corner of his mouth. Narrowing your eyes, you shoot a glare at the back of his head, then turn away to see if you can find some fresh clothing to change into.

"Would you mind if I went to bathe? I'm not feeling very clean after that nightmare." you say, having found another set of clothing suddenly sitting on the bed.

"The bathtub and shower are over there," he says and waves his hand to the corner of the cell. The walls surrounding the shower are transparent, making you swivel your head back to look at him.

"Really? No privacy?"

"Well, it IS a cell, my dear." he smothers a laugh and strides over to the outer cell wall, where the magical barrier is still up. He leans against it, making colors ripple away from wherever he touches it. "I won't watch, you have my word." he says softly, and looks outside the barrier, watching the other prisoners move around in their cells.

You shake your head in annoyance, moving toward the shower. "Won't look, my ass," you mutter under your breath, still feeling very embarrassed from before.

As you take your shower, you glance over at him every so often, and true to his word, he never once looked over at you. Part of you kind of wishes he did, just so you wouldn't be the only one to see the other naked. Then again, he also hadn't seem to mind you touching him one bit. That he was able to resist looking at you made you feel a little inferior, but you also liked that he kept his word. This emotion stuff was very confusing. _He also saw you naked when he created you, you idiot!_ That was very true.

Just as you were going to rinse the shampoo out of your hair, you hear a loud crash, and the clinking of armor heading your way. Hurrying, you turn the water off and wrap a towel around your body just as Loki leaps away from the wall and the magical barrier implodes in a spark of green flames. All of the other cell walls have collapsed as well and the prisoners are pouring out, looking for ways to escape the armored warriors that are fighting with the guards that had been posted.

"Hurry, this way!" Loki yells at you. You rush to him, still wrapped in a towel and he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging you along behind him as he winds his way in and out of the throng of people and creatures. **There's no way we can get out of this!** You think as you try to make your legs move quickly enough to keep up with his long strides.

The sounds of fighting disappear behind you and you quickly realize that no one is following you. It's just you two with no walls keeping you captive. He seems to know exactly where he's going, so you can only trust him not to get you both lost. He comes to a sudden stop before a long rainbow bridge that glistens in the brilliant light of the morning sun. "It's so beautiful..." you whisper, almost speechless.

"And it's our way to freedom," he says quickly, running you both across it. As you get closer to the other side, you see a man in a golden set of armor, wielding a giant sword. "Heimdall," Loki greets the other man. "I am looking for no trouble, I simply want to be exiled to another world to complete my sentence."

The man in the armor looks upon Loki with a gaze that has seen many things. He looks conflicted, like a soldier that has been ordered to kill an entire innocent village. His deep voice rumbles as he speaks, "You know I cannot allow that, Son of Odin. My orders are clear, and I will follow them."

He raises his sword and begins coming at you. Loki darts out of the way, and shoots his hand toward the soldier, flashes of light shooting out of his fingertips. Heimdall brings his sword up and blocks the magic, sending it bouncing off in separate directions.

"Heimdall, you leave me no choice, then!" Loki shouts, clearly not wanting to hurt the other man. He shifts into his Frost Giant form, still nude, although your mind is about as far away from appreciating him as it can be. He lifts both hands to Heimdall and whispers something under his breath that you aren't quite able to catch. Bits of ice start to swirl up around Heimdall's feet and legs, freezing him in place. He tries to slash at the ice to chip bits of it away, but to no avail. He drops his sword as the ice moves further up his body and eventually covers his chest and neck. "You will regret this, Son of Laufey," he growls as the ice swallows his face and head.

"Quickly!" Loki says to you as he grabs the sword and runs to what looks like a pedestal in a giant room. He thrusts the sword into the pedestal and turns it clockwise until gears start to grind around the room. He steps back quickly and ushers you into a spot next to him, hand wrapped around your shoulders and pulling you close. You're still struggling to keep your towel up around your breasts, looking around you in awe at the sight before you.

On the ceiling above your head, a rainbow of lights start to swirl, faster and faster until it shoots down at you and you're sucked into what you can only describe as a wormhole. Time seems to pass very slowly in the wormhole. You're able to look around at the tunnel of lights and stars floating around you, and it feels almost like you can reach out and touch them. Loki advises against it, and you glance at him and notice that he somehow found the time to switch back to his human form and clothe himself in a wonderfully tailored Midgardian suit.

Suddenly, you're both laying on the ground in the middle of a field somewhere, the grass around you charred into an interesting pattern that you've never seen. His raven black hair is tousled, but otherwise, he looks to be in good shape. You, on the other hand, are still clinging to your towel, and it's split to go all the way up your hip, coming very close to showing things it shouldn't. Hastily, you adjust it and look at him, "Will you please conjure up some clothes or something? Honestly, all that time in there and you're only able to dress yourself. What a selfish asshole." As soon as you say it, you clamp your hand over your mouth and he glances over at you, narrowing his eyes as he sits up.

"I had more pressing things on my mind than giving you clothing when no one but me can see you," he mutters, his mood dour. He stands up and extends his hand out to you. You reach up and grab it with some comment about how you're still naked, but as he pulls you up, you realize that you're already dressed.

"Thank you," you say and look around. "Where are we?" you ask him, noticing how you're in the middle of nowhere, without even any city lights to provide you with any information.

"Midgard," he says, "Just outside of Norway to be exact. This way," He sets off in a direction, hands lost in the pockets of a jacket that appeared on him. It looked like it was expensive, and it fit him perfectly. You yourself are also now wearing a black, slim-fitting, single-breasted, wool jacket. Shoving your hands into the pockets, you follow after him, wishing you had been warned that it was the middle of winter here.


End file.
